


The Boy and his Dog

by SedaVictoria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Harry, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, he really is a vicious little kid, i take care of my babies, it's kinda dark but don't worry about them, non-graphic deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:56:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SedaVictoria/pseuds/SedaVictoria
Summary: Sirius was left to rot away in Azkaban, tormented by both the Dementors and the apparition of a child that wanders the hallways. Until the child turns out to be not a symptom of his fracturing mind, but reality.





	1. Savior

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of some very old work over at fanfiction dot net. It's not finished, but every chapter could be read on its own, so don't worry about being left with a cliffhanger!

Jonathan Garibaldi Briggs was content with his mediocrity. 

He went by Briggs on the job, was John for the guys at the pub, and never let anyone know of his middle name. 

Briggs was 24 when he entered the Auror Academy just after the defeat of You-Know-Who, attracted by the promises of high wages, safe missions and a shortened training. The reality was different, of course. But he persevered through the atrocious hours, the breakdowns of his veteran colleagues, ..., . He had been a Hufflepuff, after all, and Hufflepuffs finished what they started. So now, at 29 years old, he was content with his life as a single workaholic. The pay was good. His partner was fresh out of the Academy, the only newbie that year, but he liked working with her. He genuinely enjoyed helping the law-abiding citizens of the Wizarding World in the best way he could. That day, however, he quite wished he could’ve stayed at home with a beer and a good book. 

He had been called that morning to a house in one of London’s suburbs, where an interloper ward had gone off. The Mission Coordinator had sounded very apologetic during the firecall, informing him that it was just a routine mission, really, and he had complete faith that Briggs would be able to wrap it up alone. There was no risk of course, just show your face, get the victim's statement about what was stolen, simple as that. And if he ran into difficulties, he could always call for backup and the Mission Coordinator would try to recall someone from sick leave. 

Briggs had accepted easily enough. It was a light mission, perfect for someone who had only just come back from sick leave himself. Even the fact that he had to head out alone was not so unexpected - his partner was laid out with the wizarding flu, as was a significant portion of the force. Briggs was secure in the knowledge that thieves never lingered and that the house would be empty by the time he arrived. He would take a statement from the occupant, head back to the office and make a report. Simple. Easy.

As it turned out, the owner of the house had gotten tangled up in illegal activities, the intruders weren’t thieves but hardened criminals and they were  _ not _ gone when Briggs arrived. So it was that Briggs ended up leading four trigger-happy criminals on a wild goose chase through Greater London and its surroundings. It was just the worst of Briggs’ already bad luck that some enemy spell had interfered with his communication badge, so that it only received some foreign radio station that played… really,  _ really _ creepy music. He had managed to whittle his pursuers down to one on pure stubbornness and adrenaline, but his energy was quickly flagging. For the moment he had lost the other wizard, but he needed to make an ambush, or at least think up some sort of plan. 

He slouched and stuck his hands in his pocket, trying not to look like he was wearing wizard attire in a Muggle neighbourhood. And not just any Muggle neighbourhood, but the most  _ intensely, magic-less, neat-and-tidy _ Muggle neighbourhood Briggs had ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes on. At least it was getting well into the night, and the occupants had all secluded themselves into their homes. Briggs walked down the empty street, trying not to jump at every sounds or imagined movement in the shadows. The chances of there being a wizarding family in a place like this was as good as non-existent, which was a damn shame. Otherwise he might’ve borrowed their floo to call in reinforcements. That last criminal really was a sneaky son of a hag. Briggs mentally took stock of his inventory. He had used up all of his potions except a small vial of Veritaserum, which was useless in the current situation. His dagger was lost somewhere in an alley in South London. His magical core was pretty much running on empty. All he had was his wand and the little magic he had left, which actually made for pretty good odds. He knew for a fact that his pursuer was down to the same, with the addition of a nasty gash on his arm. Now- he only had to-

Briggs froze when a soft creak reached his ears. He fingered his wand and glances around, taking half a step back so he was out of the light of the street lanterns. Nothing between the houses, but there was a playground further down the street with a couple of trees. Plenty of space to hide there. He slowly crept closer, making sure to keep a quiet as possible. He edged around an impeccably trimmed hedge and ducked behind a parked car. Carefully he peeked over the roof.

There was a small child sitting on the playground swing. Briggs exhaled softly, though he was careful not to let his guard down. That was when the werewolves jumped out of the shadows, after all. Constant vigilance, and all that rot. Still, he felt confident enough to stand up straight. A child, a muggle one at that, could do him no harm. This one looked particularly harmless, with a small stature swathed in overlarge clothes. A nearby street lantern flooded him with orange light, though his face was kept in the shadows by his unruly hair. Briggs observed the kid for a while, trying to decide whether or not to tell them to scram. The only movement was the kid slowly pushing himself with the tips of his shoes, causing the swing to creak rhythmically. A sudden gust of wind caused Briggs to shiver. A sense of foreboding overtook him.

Briggs shook himself and scowled. Muggle places always made him feel out of sorts. Demonstratively he shoved his hands back into his pockets and ambled over to the playground. 

“Hey! Kid! What are you doing out so late?”

The kid jerked his head up, his hands slipping off the chains. His face was suddenly sharply illuminated, bangs throwing jagged shadows over his cheeks. He reminded Briggs a lot of an animal caught in the headlights like that. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“You should get home. It’s dangerous for little kids at night.” 

The child just continued staring had him and Briggs was growing more and more unsettled with each passing second. He glanced away, trying to escape that unblinking gaze, only to catch a slight movement in the corner of his eyes. 

He spun away from the child, biting out a harsh “get away,” and whipped out his wand. He shot a quick cutting hex to the form that ducked behind the shrubbery, but succeeded only in tearing the edge of the trailing cloak. He planted his feet and followed up with a  _ Reducto _ that fizzled out against a flickering shield. 

A red streak of light shot out in answer and from then it was a flurry of attacking, defending and ducking, their combined spells lighting up the playground. In what felt like no time at all Briggs was breathing harshly, his voice growing more hoarse with each incantation. His opponent was lightning fast, but not very powerful, and most spells could be defended against with a simple  _ Protego _ . It was quickly sapping his reserves, though, and a minor slashing hex sneaked past his defences and cut into his arm. 

Briggs cursed and ducked behind the slide, trying to regain his breath. He gave himself two counts, before he stepped back and lashed out with an  _ Impedimenta.  _ His opponent was unprepared and caught it head on, but only stumbled without falling and howled at him with laughter. He threw his own spell in return and a sickly yellow light streaked towards Briggs, faster than he could defend against. 

For a single breathless moment Briggs felt nothing. Then the pain hit him like lightning. His blood felt like it was on fire, boiling his flesh from the inside out. He dropped his wand and fell to the ground, screaming himself hoarse. The pain cut off again as fast as it had started. 

Briggs could only lie panting on the muddy grass. His limbs were shaking violently and didn’t respond when he tried to move them. His head lolled sidewards and he saw the other wizard walking towards him, his wand ready to deliver the killing blow. His face was stretched into a wild grin. Briggs swallowed and tried to grab his fallen wand. He only succeeded in some graceless twitching before the other wizard stepped on top of it. 

He loomed over Briggs and cocked his head. “You Aurors really are a pathetic bunch. Look at you, whimpering on the ground like that,” he rasped. He gave his wand a twirl and started to raise it. Briggs stubbornly kept his eyes on him. If this was to be his end, he would face it with pride. 

“Goodbye, Au...ror…” the man trailed off. 

Puzzled, Briggs watched as he started to turn away. And then he also heard the soft creak of the playground swing. The kid was still sitting on it.

“What the…” the man muttered. “You stupid brat! Have you been sitting there the whole time?” 

He swung his raised wand around so it was pointed at the child and took a single step forwards. Briggs started to scramble for his wand, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop him from biting out the Killing Curse. Green light flew from the tip of his wand, illuminating their surroundings. 

There was an explosion.

Briggs screwed his eyes shut as wind and dirt blew over him, his ears ringing from the sudden boom. He lay still for a moment when the playground was silent again, gasping and trembling, before pushing himself to his feet. He stumbled for a moment, but then straightened and turned to the swing. The child was standing in front of it, their head bowed and their hands raised. On the ground between them was a bloody heap, barely recognizable as a human body. The air smelled heavily of ozone and Briggs could still feel the residue of untamed magic crawling over his skin.

“A Wizard child,” he breathed, giddy with relief. For a short moment he felt apprehensive of the sheer power of the child, but it was quickly swept away by sheer gratitude. Thank Merlin for the accidental magic of young wizards and witches. He was saved. He could used the kid’s parents’ Floo to get back to the Ministry. This nightmarish day would finally be over.

He picked up his wand from the ground and walked over, placing his hand on a thin shoulder. The child was still looking down at their hands, black bangs hanging over their face.

“Hey kid, you alright? Where do you live?” 

This child turned his face up to Briggs, so he could finally see their features. Their cheeks were thin and pale, except for the dark spatters of blood. Their eyes were calm as they gazed back at Briggs.

“I will be punished for this,” the child said. They cocked their head and turned more fully to Briggs. “But I don’t… really… want to be punished alone.”    
A small hand settled on his arm. Briggs didn’t even have the time to feel dread.

* * *

The boy stared dispassionately at the bodies crumpled at his feet. 

“Actually, I don’t really want to be punished at all.” 

He turned to 4 Privet Drive and started walking. His hand were tingling and he flexed them slightly. 

His Aunt was still in the kitchen, rinsing the last of the day’s teacups. She turned when he entered through the backdoor, starting at the blood dotting his clothes. Then she glanced at his eyes.

“Monster,” she whispered. He smiled at her. Oh, he would enjoy this.

* * *

(The dark whispered ‘savior’ to him, but in this he could only agree with his relatives.)


	2. Tread Carefully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is lifted verbatim from the old version over at fanfiction dot net. It's reasonably okay, but I'll probably still rewrite it in the future.

"What a mess," sighed the Head of the Aurors tiredly as he slumped behind his desk and massaged the bridge of his nose with his left hand. In his right hand he held a piece of paper that had flown into his office barely twenty minutes ago. It was a note from the Mission Coordinator on duty. One of his Aurors had been killed while chasing a group of burglars and, apparently, a small Muggle family had followed him not fifteen minutes later. Initial magical signature recognition indicated one perpetrator, not yet known in the system. Not the greatest of catastrophes, all things told, except for the Auror. He had been one of the more hardworking lads in the office and they needed all the men they had after the War. On top of all the deaths and injuries, a combination of Aurors burning out because of stress disorders and budget cuts had whittled away a large part of what was left of the Law Enforcement. The active Aurors had to work sometimes triple the cases in order to keep the British Wizarding World liveable. Everybody was stretched thin and weary, which only exacerbated possible mental problems. The situation was untenable, but without a solution in sight they would simply have to buckle up. He had recalled two of the men on sick leave and sent them to the Muggle residence, though without any hope of catching the perpetrator. That bird had probably long since flown. Still, at least they would be on scene quick enough to preserve the criminal's magical signature.

The Head set down the paper and slid further down in his chair. He had been working heavy overtime already when the notice came in and this promised even more work. He looked longingly to the couch in the corner in his office, but pulled himself back up when he heard hurried footsteps in the corridor. The Mission Coordinator stuck his head round the door, his pale face emphasizing the heavy shadows beneath his eyes. This was more than simple exhaustion however and the Head stood up worriedly.

"What is it, Andy?"

"Boss... the Aurors we sent. They are gone. Both."

"Gone?" the Head asked with a sinking feeling.

"Both Marsh and... and Jamey. The Monitor lost contact with them seconds after they arrived at the crime scene. The only way that..."

"The murderer was waiting for them." The Head closed his eyes. "Jamey was a friend of yours, was he not?" The other man's silence told him all he needed to know.

"Send the Dementors then. He is obviously guilty enough to warrant a one way trip anyway, and we really can't afford to lose any more men."

The Coordinator shuddered slightly at the mention of the foul creatures, but nodded determinedly and headed off to contact the Warden of Azkaban. The Head sank back into his chair and massaged his temples. Three Aurors lost to a murderer... what a terrible, terrible mess. His punishment at the hands of the Dementors was a small consolation, really.

* * *

The small boy was swinging his feet from his perch on the living room couch and admired the way the dark liquid slowly spread and stained the creamy white carpet. Idly he wondered how much he would need to cover the whole room and if more people would come to provide it.

He was humming a jaunty tune under his breath when he suddenly stopped and cocked his head. There was a thin layer of frost creeping along the floor, freezing the blood where it touched. The boy frowned lightly and pulled his knees up to his chest. Then he slowly tipped to the side until he was lying down and reached down to poke at the ice. It was cold on his fingertips and still a bit sticky.

The light in the room flickered. He pushed himself up again, his hands leaving bloody smears on the couch fabric. There were shadows coming through the wall.

They were indistinct at first, but swiftly pulled themselves into two recognizable forms. They were taller than men, taller than the space between floor and ceiling allowed for really, so they had to stay hunched over to fit. The boy thought they'd fit better if they stood on the floor, instead of floating a few inches above it. Maybe they didn't want the blood to get on their clothes and weigh them down. Their black cloaks fluttered even in the stale air of the living room. They must be very light. He didn't think they would bleed like those other men did.

They paused for a moment, their rattling breath filling the room. Then what passed for their faces turned towards him and they glided closer, their arms lifting in the air.

He scooted backwards and stared up at one of the shadowed cowls. "I don't want to be punished."

They seemed to hesitate, but then slowly reached forward again. This time he let them grab him and watched curiously as the room around him seemed to be leeched of colour before he was pulled through one of the walls. It parted around them like mist. The world outside was as bleak and shadowy as the room they just left, objects wavering like phantoms in and out of sight. In contrast, the shadowy apparitions seem to have gained solidity, their thin pale hands grasping his shoulders tightly. It took a moment for the boy to notice his feet were no longer touching the ground either. It was only a few inches at first, but then they lifted into the air and the boy watched without fear as his relatives' house grew ever smaller. He would be glad, he thought, to leave that place behind him. With curiosity he watched their flight over landscapes and waters, until they reached what he guessed was their destination. The slate grey sea churned beneath them as they lowered towards an island, almost hidden behind great gusts of rainy wind. The boy could not keep a delighted laugh inside when he realised the rain passed right through them. Even the cold was indistinct and more like a caress than a punishment. His two accompanists jerked at the sudden sound, but did not stop their descent.

They faded through the roof of a fortress, ever going lower through stone hallways and draughty rooms. They finally stopped in one such room and he was abruptly let go. He fell the last few inches to the floor and grimaced when he stumbled. When he regained his balance and looked up, the shadows were already gone. He slowly turned in a circle, taking in the room he was left in. It was large to his eyes, easily four times his old cupboard. Lighter too, because of the torchlight shining through the bars of the door. He traced his fingers through the shadows thrown by the flickering light. The stone wall was slick with saltwater and a large piece lining the entry had succumbed to the teeth of Time, leaving a jagged hole. There was enough space between the stone and iron for him to slip through, but the cot in the corner was softer than his mattress at his relatives and he was sleepy. He would explore this new place tomorrow.

* * *

He woke because of the screaming. It echoed between the stones, bouncing back and forth until it became impossible to determine the direction it came from. The boy stared blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling above him, wondering _what_ and _how_ and _where did the stairs go?_ Then it all rushed back to him; he had flown (flown!) and painted the living room red and his relatives were _dead_. He was giddy for several seconds, but the feeling was washed away when the anxiety made itself known. Last night he had been simply curious, but he had only ever known his relatives' house and their neighborhood. He was alone in an unfamiliar place, brought by those shadow people he never knew existed. He huddled on the cot until the screaming came to a stop, a breathless silence taking its place. It was better, that silence, and it gave him enough courage to unfold himself and get up. His room looked the same as last time, dank and empty. Through the bars however, he could see the room opposite his and the bowl that stood just inside. Next to the bowl was a bucket with condensation on its side. The boy licked his dry lips en squeezed through the hole in the wall. When he was in the hallway he stopped to look around, but it empty as far as he could see. A bit to his right the hall stopped at a wooden door with a heavy-looking padlock. To his left, the hall ran for a longer stretch before going around a corner. The entire hallway was lined with metal bars from floor to ceiling. He grinned when he realized what kind of place he was. A prison! Like on the television! It was a bit darker and colder than what he thought a prison would be like, but then again his relatives ( _former relatives_ he thought and again experienced a rush of satisfaction) had always taken great pleasure in telling him he didn't know anything.

The boy eyed his surroundings for a moment longer before remembering the bucket filled with, hopefully, water. He excitedly reached through the bars and pulled the bucket towards him, grinning when cold liquid slopped over the edge. He stilled for a moment when what he thought was a lump of rags in the corner of the cell stirred. When after a few breathless seconds nothing more was moving, he brought his attention back to the bucket. The water smelled slightly rusty, but that was probably because of the container. He pulled it fully into the hallway and tipped it to the side so he could drink. It was too heavy for him otherwise. He drank greedily, the water pooling coldly in his stomach. After that he washed the flaking blood off his hands. It had started to itch; otherwise he maybe would've kept it. Then he pulled the bowl towards him. It was filled with some sort of stew, undefined chunks and drops of solidified fat floating in the watery substance. It smelled heavenly. He made quick work of that too, licking out the bowl when it was empty. When he was done, he was almost uncomfortably full and fully satisfied. He pushed the bucket and the bowl back into the cell and pulled himself up on the bars. It was time to explore.

Most of the cells in near his turned out to be empty, though some of them had silent lumps in the corner that were probably people. None of them stirred though. It was only when he turned the corner that he actually _saw_ any prisoners. Even then most of them were sleeping, or dully staring at the walls, or huddling and muttering at themselves. None of them paid him any mind, until-

"Angel?"

He immediately stopped and looked into the cell he had been walking past. There was a man in the corner, but this one, unlike all the others, was moving. His body was mostly hidden behind folds of fabric, but more became visible of him when he crawled closer. He was dirty and rail thin, and probably decades younger than he looked.

"You are an angel, right? You... you have come to free me. From the Deme- e- entors." The man began to shake at the last word, his teeth chattering again each other. The boy blinked curiously and turned fully to the man.

"What are... Dementors?" he asked hesitantly. The man had almost reached the cell bars.

"They take you to A-... A-... t-to here and they take all the warmth and g-good dreams away. They-"

"They are the shadow people?" He intersected, delighted by this new knowledge. The man however, showed no sign he had heard him and kept muttering.

"I was bad and they took me away and they left me here. To b- to be purged of my sins. But now, my punishment is over, you've come to take me away, pl- please. Take me away from here, my sweet, s- sweet angel. A- ange-..." The shaking had gotten progressively worse while he was talking, until he couldn't get any words out. The man clawed at the floor, still trying to reach for him. He had his arm pushed to the shoulder between the bars, until he could go no further. His eyes were wild in a mask of desperation. The boy was pressed into the opposite wall, panicked breath shaking his thin shoulders. He knew, logically, that the man was too large to get past the bars, but this was too much like-

There were little white clouds coming out of his mouth. His fingertips were tingling from the sudden cold that enveloped him and abruptly his fear fell away. He turned his head and saw the Dementors entering the hallway, purposefully making their way to the prisoner. The man was screaming hysterically as they brushed past the boy to enter the cell. He scrabbled backwards, his bare feet slipping on the floor and ragged cloak trailing through the filth. The boy watched curiously as the Dementors swept through the bars and crowded around the now wildly flailing man, his limbs waving ineffectually through their shadowy cloths. The last thing he saw as they ensconced the man within their midst, was a weak light coming out of his face.

_What..?_

He shuffled sideways but couldn't see what was happening as the man's screams tapered to a stop. Suddenly the Dementors were an obstruction instead of helpers and he wanted them _away_. He steeled his nerve, took a deep breath and yelled "go away!" as hard as he could. Even then, it was a surprise when the Dementors immediately obeyed; disappearing before his voice could finish echoing between the stones. He followed their flight with wide eyes, before turning back around and eyeing the prisoner. The man was still and silent, arms flung wide over the cell floor. Eyes half-shut, mouth open and slack. There was a thin stream of drool dribbling down his check. His eyes wandered to the thick cloak the catatonic man was wrapped in. He tried the cell door, but it was firmly stuck in its lock and the cloak was too far to reach. Frowning he curled his hand around the icy bar. He tried to remember what it felt like when the Dementors had pulled him through the walls and taken him with them. The world had been dim and indistinct, like walking through fog. He had felt light, as if he could float away on the wind anytime, and at the same time more solid than ever before. His hand flickered and he suddenly felt the iron give way. He grinned victoriously and pulled fully through the doorway. He then padded towards the man and kicked experimentally. The man lolled his head, but didn't respond otherwise. He wondered what the Dementors had done, but his attention was again irrevocable drawn to the cloak. It was dirty, true, and more than a little threadbare, but it looked so _soft_. He didn't think he could remember the last time he had owned anything that soft.

* * *

Truthfully, it took a little while to fully sink in. For days and days he slunk through the hallways, skittering away from sudden sounds and keeping out of the light. He had even been cautious of the prisoners, rail thin and weak behind their bars. The free men with their torches and heavy boots, he kept away from entirely. It was etched into his bones, gouged into his soul with heavy hand; _keep out of sight. Keep silent and small. Obey what we say and do not ask questions_. So yes, it took a while until he truly realized what it meant when he made the world turn vaporous. It was not just escaping when he got caught. It was not just being able to hide in new and secret places. It even was not just having the Dementors to huddle around the prisoners and take their light, that strange white phantom that sparked their eyes and made them move their limbs. They could not catch him. They could not find him if he didn't want to be found, shadow amid shades. He could tear out their light, eat it and smother it and turn it into void. He had no use for fear or silence. The thought made him laugh, loudly and freely.

_He was never ever getting punished again._

The turning point came maybe two weeks into his new residency, when he was once again flitting through the hallways. It was not strange to see women in the cells, there were plenty, but he had never seen one with such pretty eyes. He had drifted closer, fascinated, and she had looked back at him. Her eyes were dark, set deeply into her skull. When the light hit them they gleamed purple. He came even closer to where she was sitting near the entry of her cell. She smiled at him, baring blackened teeth, and he smiled back, hesitantly. Then suddenly her arms shot out between the bars and took a tight hold on his hair, pulling him towards her. He shrieked and tried to pry himself loose, but she still had a surprising amount of strength in her withered hands. She shrieked back at him, triumphantly, and their combined cacophony made his ears ring. She dug her nails in his skull and he wanted her to _stop_. She slammed him against the partition between them and he _hated_ and wanted her _hurting so much_.

Then he made the world colourless and flowed through the iron bars and latched onto her throat and sucked the light from her eyes. He savoured her pained screams until they tapered to a stop. Only then he stepped back. The body in front of him was taking shallow breaths, the eyes staring unseeing towards the hallway behind him. He crouched down again, reaching forward to take one of her fingers. Then he bent it backwards until he heard a loud crack. She didn't as much as twitch. He released the finger and made a sound of discontent. How boring...

Next time he would be more careful, so he could play a little longer.

* * *

When he slept, he dreamt of the castle stones. They were old, and had seen so much blood and fear and death. They had soaked it all up until they were filled with it and breathed it back into the air. He dreamt of the stones and the air and the sea and they all told him their bloodstained memories.  
Sometimes they were silent and he dreamt of a forest. It was dark and wild and he slithered and flew and hid between the branches. He woke up short of breath and feeling frustrated from those dreams, but didn't know why. He didn't much care for those dreams, but they were soon enough forgotten when he explored the endless hallways and discovered more people to play with. He was never bored or hungry anymore and was never kept from roaming by the Dementors. They kept away from the prisoners when he was there, and the prisoners were _so much more fun_.

And then, one day, he looked into a cell and realized he recognized the man inside. _Doggy, doggy, won't you play with me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest challenge was _how the hell do I smuggle a child into Azkaban_ , but I figured a mixture of exhaustion, bureaucratic sloppiness and the Wizarding World's general ineptitude would help me out here.   
> Horror!Harry is great fun to write. I tried to keep him a delicate mix between a monster and a child - hope I succeeded at least somewhat there.


	3. The Visitor

I.

The first time the voice reached him, was when he had been imprisoned for a long time already. He had no idea how long exactly. Every day felt like an eternity and the uncertain seasons were no help. There were autumns and winters and short-lived springs bringing raging storms interspersed with teasing hints of warmth. There were no summers. Mostly it was miserably cold and wet, rain and hail forever trading places to pelt the outer walls. They sneaked through the narrow window to seep down the wall and soak his bedding. Even then, having his cot against the back wall was better than having it closer to the bars. It might be relatively dry and closer to the torches lining the hallway, but the Dementors that frequently passed by were a powerful deterrent. The few extra feet separating them was a paltry protection, but even that was better than nothing. His fur could protect him against the worst of the elements, anyway.

His ears perked up when he heard the voice again and he shed his fur without hesitation. If there were Aurors coming through the hallway, he could ask them the date. They ignored him more often than not, but anything was better than just slumping in a dank corner and giving up. Determined he struggled up from his cot and hissed when his bare feet touched the floor. He searched his bed for the rags he used to tie around his feet – his paws never needed them. He faltered, however, when the voice became clearer. It wasn't an Auror. It sounded like a _child_. But that couldn't be, of course. Sirius growled angrily at himself, though his human throat was not really suitable for the sound. It wasn't the first time he heard voices, but normally it was when the Dementors were around. And never when he was in his dog form. Was he really going crazy, then? Was this then the moment he finally lost what was left of his mind?

The child was singing, accompanied by clapping. The sharp sounds echoed through the stone hallway until they seemed to come from all sides. The child's high voice caused shivers to go down Sirius' spine.

"…fat ones, skinny ones, oochy goochy gooey ones, see how they squiggle and squirm.  
First you bite off their heads and you suck out the juice and you throw the skins-"

Both the singing and the clapping abruptly cut off. Sirius could hear other prisoners stirring in their cells. A couple of cells down, somebody started muttering under their breath. On the floor beneath them, a scream started and faded away again. Sirius relaxed and finished binding his feet. Then the voice started up again.

"Mister, mister," the child almost sang, "I dreamt a cat today. She was the prettiest cat of all. Her fur was all wet and dark and she had so many pretty ribs." The voice lowered conspiratorially.  
"I think she was very very hungry, mister. I remember it. I wanted to feed her, but she didn't have a mouth anymore. Are you not hungry?"

There was a soft scraping sound, like something sliding over the rough stone floor. The muttering of the other prisoner grew steadily louder, until it changed into shouting and drowned out any other possible sound. Sirius huddled into his corner and tried to forget he ever heard anything.

II.

He was often pacing for hours in his cell. It took him ten steps to go around. Three for the long walls, two for the short. But that was when he had been healthy. It was a lot more steps lately.

He still did it anyway, laboriously walking along the circumference again and again. He only stopped when his vision started to dim with exhaustion or a Dementor passed by. Then he hid beneath his fur until they were gone and he could start walking again. He had to keep his body in working order. _Stay sane_ , he thought and took another step. _Get out_ , step, _kill the rat_ , step. _Stay sane_ -

His mantra was interrupted when the clang of a door slammed shut reverberated through the space. Sirius waited intently for something else to happen so he would know what to do – either the booted footsteps of Aurors or the creeping despair that preceded Dementors. The Dementors had been behaving weirdly lately, both more absent and more hungry. Almost every time they went past, they carried with them one or more de-souled prisoners. Sirius had recognized a few of them as convicted Death Eaters. Maybe, under different circumstances, he could've felt satisfaction over their demise. As it was, it only filled him with unease. Anything that changed the behavior of the infernal guards could only bad news. The sporadic Aurors that visited the prison acted no different, however. Most likely they were not even aware of the change. Incompetent assholes.

It wasn't a pair of Aurors that had entered the hallway, however, nor a Dementor. Instead, it was once again the voice of a child that reached his ears. It was too faint to make out any words. Almost against his will Sirius stumbled to his door. If he could just _see_ there was nothing in the hall, maybe he could also convince his fracturing mind. He curled his fingers around the metal bars. For a second he was distracted by the view of his hands - so thin and bony where before they had been strong and sure – but then he shook his head angrily and tried to peer into the hallway. If he pressed his head against the icy cold iron he could just about see three cells down. He could hear fragments of sentences now, meaningless without context but unnerving him all the same.

" _. . . -ty lady . . . spider I killed . . . burned . . ."_

In the cell diagonal of his, the inhabitant had also gotten to his door. For a moment their eyes met. _He could also hear the voice_ , Sirius thought and shivered. Then the other prisoner spat at him and turned away. _Stupid_ , Sirius berated himself. _It was just a coincidence._

The child was laughing.

Sirius watched as the man slumped down on the floor against the bars. His pale skin flashed in the flickering light as he raised his hands and started scratching at the stones. His fingers were already dark with dried blood. Sirius unclenched his frozen hands from the bars and headed back to his cot. The child's voice faded again to a barely heard murmur. It melted together with the scratching and the sound of the ceaseless waves outside the walls into a buzz that successfully lulled Sirius to sleep.

III.

It was not the last time he heard the child. The voice came sporadically and without warning, often faint and indecipherable, sometimes so clear it seemed to come from his own cell. Once, Sirius was woken by a whisper directly into his ear. When he opened his eyes, he was the only one there.

He started hearing whispers in the washing of the waves, the whining of the wind. The voice threaded through his nightmares, framing them with haunting whispers. The increasing absence of the Dementors was a small consolation when he was so very clearly going out of his mind. He spent most of his time in his dog form, trying to barricade himself against the madness. It was easier like that, easier to ignore the voice and concentrate on his own survival. His nightmares became indistinct and forgettable. The man only came out when he heard Aurors in the prison, both to protect his secret and to remind himself of what he really was. He would practice talking and walking on two legs until it once again became too much to handle and he had to retreat. In that manner he could manage to survive the innumerable string of days, biding his time until he would be able to escape and achieve his vengeance. He could force himself to eat, where others gave up and succumbed.

_Stay sane, get out, kill the rat_.

IV.

The dog perked up from where he lay on the cot. For a moment he thought he heard Aurors, but then he slumped back down. It was the child voice, singing again. The voice was gaining volume as it steadily came closer. Sometimes it was obscured by other noises; the screaming of the mad prisoners, the clanging, the moaning of the wind through the building. Every time it came back stronger, until Sirius could clearly make out the words.

"- _hmmhm_ in a _hmhm_ sheet. _Hmhmm hmm_.  
"And the worms crawl in and the worms crawl out,  
In your belly and out your snout,  
And your eyes fall out and _hmmhm hm_ –  
And that is the end of a perfect day.  
 _Hmm hmhmmm-"_

Sirius huffed and laid his head on his paws, absently staring at the hallway through the bars. The torch beside his door was flickering and weak, throwing irregular patterns on the walls.

There were eyes peering out at him through the gloom.

Sirius stared back stupidly, unable to process finally having an image to go with the voice. A hallucination, of course. He crawled forward on his belly, whining. The apparition also leaned forward, bringing his pale face more clearly into the straggling light. There was something about that face…

"Doggy," the boy said. The dog whined again and sniffed the air. Salt and mold, the pervading foulness of the Dementors, the bucket in the corner. And very, very faintly, something that evoked old memories of warmth. It quickly escaped his senses however, though he desperately tried to chase it. He could only smell the prison and himself.

The boy was still staring at him solemnly. "Doggy," he said, "I forgot the rest of the words."

_Words,_ the dog huffed. He didn't have any words, not like this. That was okay. He had nothing to say to a hallucination. He turned around and padded to his bedding, determined to ignore everything. After a pause the humming started again.

" _Hmhmhmmhm_ when a hearse goes by, you will be the first to die. _Hmmmhm_ in a _hmmhm_ sheet. _Hmmhmmm._ " There was a deep sigh. "How boring, doggy. Boggy doggy." A short silence before he started to sing again.  
"Boggy little doggy tries to sleep, on his boggy little cot. He has no friends, though once he had a few. Now he's left all alone and only fit for stew."

The boy giggled. The dog tried to hide his head under his paw. _Ignore him. Stay sane, stay sane, stay sane. Stay sane, get out, kill the rat. To kill the rat you have to get out. To get out you have to stay sane. There are no children in Azkaban. You are the only one here._

When he looked up again, the boy was in his cell. He was standing right in front of the solid iron bars, just outside of the moonlight pooling on the cell floor. He looked very real. The dog very carefully got up from his cot, then jerked when the sound of heavy boots reached him. Aurors. The boy turned his face to the hallway and cocked his head. His eyes glittered, half hidden underneath his messy mop of hair. Once again a memory tried to spark. It was so close the dog could almost _taste_ it. It was useless, though. This body, this haven, protected him both against the influence of the Dementors and against the nightmarish images of his past. It did not rely as much on sight as his human form did. With mixed feelings he watched the apparition move away from the hallway and melt into the shadows. The footsteps were rapidly approaching his cell and the dog quickly abandoned his form.

The man that was left behind shivered in the cold and struggled to his feet. Better to stand, though he didn't always remember why. Better to stand than to kneel. The two Aurors reached the cell he was in and walked past without so much as a sideways glance. Between them was a shackled convict.

"Hey!" he called. When the footsteps continued unabated he rattled the lock to his cell. "Hey! What's the date?"

The steps stopped. One of the Aurors walked back so Sirius could see him through the bars. He tried to smile winningly, prompting the Auror to deepen his scowl. Admittedly, he was a little out of practice.

"Shut up, prisoner," the Auror barked and stepped closer. In his eyes Sirius could see the barely restrained panic at being near the Dementors, even if they were not currently in the hallway. He couldn't sympathize. All his sympathy had long since dried up. All the same, he held up his hands and tried to look non-threatening.

"I just want to know the date, man."

The Auror mulled this over a moment and then spat out "October 26th."

"And the year?" he prodded.

"1988," the Auror said and then abruptly turned around and left. Sirius staggered to his cot and slumped down. Almost seven years already… So many years wasted away in this hellhole. _Stay sane_ , he reminded himself. _You still have to get your revenge. One day, you will escape, find the traitor, and kill him for what he did to James and Lily. You are Sirius Black and you_ will _have your revenge. You just have to stay sane._

V.

He blinked open his eyes, not remembering having gone to sleep. It took him only a moment to register the creeping despair. He pulled his fur on like a shield and huddled in the corner. Already the moisture in his cell was freezing; his half-empty bucket of water, his bucket of piss and shit, the sea- and rainwater dripping from the narrow window down his wall. The torches lining the hallway sputtered and dimmed. The first Shade passed his cell soundlessly, carrying with him the soulless body of a convict. Behind him, at irregular intervals, floated a sparse line of Shades, bowls clasped in their withered hands. One of them paused to swap the empty food bowl in the dog's cell for a full one. Then it swung the door shut again and securely locked it. It stayed in front of the cell for a few long moments, seemingly contemplating the inhabitant. The dog shuddered at feeling the unseen gaze on him. After an interminable period it backed off and rejoined the queue. Eventually the macabre procession floated out of range. The flames on the torches lengthened again with a _whoosh_. The frost creeping on the walls started to melt with an unsteady _drip, drip_.

When he was sure they wouldn't return, the dog shed his fur. With a wince Sirius tried to rub some warmth into his hands. He gave up after a minute and got up to get his bowl. Distasteful as it was, he had to keep his strength. He still had too much to do to merely fade away like so many others. He sat back down on his cot and with a grimace he set the bowl at his lips and tilted it.

"Doggy."

Sirius fumbled with the bowl and slopped half of the muck all over himself. With growing dread he looked up. In the hallway, on the other side of the bars, stood the boy. His face was once again mostly hidden in the gloom, but Sirius could clearly see the displeased frown that pulled at his mouth.

"What-" he said hoarsely.

"I liked you better before," the boy interrupted him. "Why did you change?"

"What are you-" he said, before he cut himself off and clenched his eyes shut. "You are not here. I am just… talking with a delusion caused by the presence of Dementors."

"Dementors don't do that," the boy said. "They're not around anyways. They leave me alone, usually. The prisoners are much more fun that way."

Sirius opened his eyes again. The boy was still standing outside his cell. Quickly he shut his eyes, rubbed his eyelids and opened them. The boy had cocked his head.

"There are no children in Azkaban," Sirius insisted. The boy just shrugged. Sirius could feel the hysteria bubbling up his throat and firmly swallowed it down.

"You're not real. You're just some sort of phantasm."

In response the boy reached for the cell door and rattled the lock. The harsh clanging echoed a few times before it died down. Even that wouldn't have been enough to convince Sirius, had not a couple of other prisoners also began rattling their locks. Another one started screaming for them to shut up and then one started screaming just for the hell of it. All in all, it took some time before Sirius could even attempt to be heard again. All that time, he could not tear his eyes from the _very real_ boy outside his cell, _holy fuck_.

"You-" he finally said. "You are real." The boy grinned at him.

"How did you get here, then," Sirius asked. "Who the _fuck_ brought a little kid to Azkaban?"

"The Dementors, of course," the boy answered.

"They don't- Never mind. What's your name, kid?"

The boy just shrugged again.

"Okay. What… what did your parents call you?"

"They are dead."

"But you must've lived somewhere before Azkaban, with people. What did _they_ call you?"

"They are dead, too." This time it was said with a sharp grin. "It was very very pretty. But before, they called me boy, freak, monster."

Sirius slumped on his cot and put his face in his hands. Merlin.

"The man called me angel," the boy continued. "And then they called me child, and ghost, and monster again."

"Those aren't names," he said. "Those are… things, not people. Your parents give you a name when you are born and you get their family name. Sometimes your… your friends give you a name too. A nickname." Sirius swallowed heavily. The boy waited patiently until he continued.

"My parents named me Sirius."

"Yes," the boy said. "I remember. Paddy."

Sirius looked up sharply.

The boy came closer to the bars, bringing himself fully into the light of the torch. This time the realization was immediate and undeniable.

Right on its heels was horror. He _knew_ this boy. He knew his eyes, his face, that untamed mess of hair.

_Oh Merlin, no._

_No no no no nonono_.

"No," he said. "No. No! He _promised_ me. You would be safe, at least. You would have a _life_. He _promised!"_ The last bit was roared out. Sirius turned around and kicked his cot, hard. Then he slumped against the wall and just breathed. When he had somewhat calmed down he turned back around. The boy – _Harry_ – had retreated back into the shadows and was watching him warily. Shame flooded him.

"I- I'm sorry," Sirius stammered. "Harry, I am _so sorry_." He reached out with his hand, but immediately flinched back when the boy backed away.

"Please believe me, Harry. I am so unbelievably sorry."

Defeated he watched as the boy turned around and left.

VI.

The following days were among the most horrible Sirius had ever experienced. They didn't quite reach the horror of that fateful All Hallows' Eve, but they far surpassed the period when the fall-out with his parents happened. At least back then he had the support of his friends and a sort of surrogate family in the form of James and his parents. But now, sitting helpless and alone in his cell, knowing that Harry was also kept on the cursed island… To know that the son of the man he had considered a brother had also fallen victim to the influence of the Dementors…

It was too much to bear.

Sirius laid on his cot, unable to sleep, watching the same questions and doubt and recriminations pass before his eyes in a ceaseless parade. He should've kept the baby, that night, instead of passing him over to Hagrid. But he had trusted the half-giant and he had trusted his word that Dumbledore would take care of everything. And he had seen his chance for revenge. Unburdened by a baby, he was able to confront Pettigrew.

How stupid, how unforgivably _moronic_ of him to still underestimate the rat. After everything that had happened. For that stupidity alone he deserved to rot. To have failed James and Lily so… He deserved every retribution the world could mete out. But not before the true traitor was punished. It was what kept him alive and kicking all these years, the knowledge that the rat was still out there living a free life while an innocent suffered in his place.

Now, though, he had a second purpose. He had to get Harry out of Azkaban. Somehow. Escaping alone had been nigh impossible. Escaping while towing along a small child… Impossible. But it had to be done.

VII.

He was jerked out of a restless half-sleep when something rattled the lock to his cell. Hardly daring to hope he opened his eyes and looked towards the bars.

_Harry._

Sirius got up from his cot, careful to keep his movements slow and non-threatening. Harry didn't so much as blink at him, though he did let go of the door.

"You're back," Sirius breathed. "I didn't think-" He cut himself off. "Harry, how could you be here? In Azkaban?"

"I told you, the Dementors took me," Harry said. "You call me Harry. That's a name."

"Yes," Sirius said, trying to ignore the bottomless pit that had opened somewhere beneath his breastbone. "It's _your_ name. Harry James Potter. Why did the Dementors take you?" Sirius took a careful step to the bars, and another when Harry didn't react. He slumped against the bars, resisting the urge to reach between them and touch Harry. _Don't chase him away_. "Why did the Dementors take a child? The Ministry has them under control."

"To punish me, I guess," Harry said and cocked his head. "But they didn't. They took me here and they feed me and they let me walk around. Did my parents give me that name?"

"Yes, they did. Your father, James…" Sirius had to pause for a moment before he could continue. "Harry was his grandfather's name, and he gave you his own name and his family name. They loved you _so much._ " Sirius put his head in his hands and clenched his fingers in his hair. "This is no place for a kid," he muttered. "This is no place for _anyone_."

"You want to leave," Harry said. "Why."

Sirius laughed incredulously. " _Why_? This is a prison, Harry!"

"I know," Harry said and looked at him like he was stupid. "So?"

" _So_ there is a whole world out there and we are being kept on this forsaken island! I have to get you out of here."

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. "I can leave anytime I want," he said. "I just don't want to."

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked. "Even if there weren't any locks on the doors, which there _are_ , there are Dementors everywhere and we're at least a couple of miles from the shore. I might be able to swim it, but you can't. And there's no way I'll make it while also carrying you."

Harry smiled mischievously and leaned forward. "Can you keep a se-cret?"

When Sirius nodded he grasped one of the iron bars between them. Or, at least, he made the motion, because his hand _went through the bar_. Sirius stared wide-eyed at the hand and sputtered.

"H-how…"

He watched as Harry grabbed his arm; his hand felt solid, but everything else immediately became… wispy. The burning torches threw no light, the shadows flickered and crawled over the wavering walls. Harry's pale face was luminous. When he pulled, Sirius came easily. The iron bars ceased to be a barrier and Sirius stumbled to his feet inside the hallway. Harry let go of his hand. The world returned to normal, color rushing back like spilled ink. Sirius felt faint. Harry watched as he searched for support against the wall.

"What just happened?" Sirius pushed off the wall and crouched in front of Harry, making sure to keep enough space between them. "Harry, how did you do that?"

Harry scrunched his eyebrows together. "You didn't like it?"

"No! No, I do like it! It's incredible!" Sirius reassured him. "I just don't understand... how you can do it."

"The Dementors can do it, too."

"They can," Sirius said, "but they're very different from us."

"It's not difficult." Harry half turned away and looked into the hallway that stretched out behind Sirius.

"Okay," Sirius said quickly. _Don't leave, please_. "Okay, that's great. You're great."

Harry shot a suspicious look at him.

"I'm se- I'm telling the truth, Harry. It's great that you can do that. Listen," he leaned slightly forward, making sure he had Harry's attention, "if I can find a way out of here, will you come with me? I promise I'll take care of you. And I'll show you everything you've been missing, like… like candy and movies and I'll take you sightseeing and to the Continent and everything."

Sirius waited with baited breath.

"Okay," Harry said. "Candy and movies and sightseeing."

Sirius felt the first small flickering of joy. He almost didn't recognize it, it had been so long. "You will. Great. Great. I'll think of a plan. But first," he looked uneasily down the hall, "can you get us back through the bars? I don't want to be caught out."

VIII.

"Okay, so, the walls aren't a problem," Sirius said when he was back in his cell. "But the Dementors-"

"The Dementors don't bother me," Harry interrupted.

"Right. Right, that's… okay," Sirius said. "But still, the sea. We're somewhere in the North Sea, but I've no idea where exactly… The sea is still a problem." Sirius fell silent. Harry shrugged and looked away. He looked bored.

"Once we get to the shore I can Apparate us somewhere safe…" Sirius paused when he saw he had Harry's full attention again. "Uh, Apparition is… it's instant travel. You think of where you want to go and you instantly appear there."

"Teleportation," Harry said.

"I guess, yeah. But Azkaban is heavily warded against that sort of thing. We need to get off the island first. And I can't Apparate while also swimming."

"How do the men get here?"

"The Aurors bring new prisoners here by boat. I guess we could steal one, but that would need to be timed perfectly. There'll probably be a guard stationed with the boat, too. At least it should move back to the shore automatically as soon as we're in it. I don't think they propel it themselves, seeing as the presence of Dementors dampens the ability to use magic." Sirius paused again, listening absently to the sounds made by various other prisoners. Then he grinned wildly. "It's not a bad shot, not at all. If you can get us past the locks and the Dementors, I can take care of the Auror at the boat. He'll be far more affected by the Dementors than my dog form is. We just need to know when a new prisoner is being dropped off." He glanced at Harry, who was still watching him attentively. "Could you… could you keep an eye on that? You obviously don't need to keep in your cell, but they'll notice if I'm gone."

Harry cocked his head and shrugged. "Sure."

Sirius grinned again and, without thinking, reached out to ruffle Harry's hair. His grin faded when the boy easily ducked out of range and frowned at him.

"Sorry," he said awkwardly. "I forgot."

"Don't forget," Harry said. "And don't touch me." He hesitated and then added, "I'm going now."

It sounded like a peace offering. Sirius smiled gratefully and nodded.

"Yes, okay. Thank you, Harry."

IX.

Sirius spent even more time than before as a dog, huddling in the corner to protect the spark of hope that had ignited in his chest. The one time the Dementors surprised him as a man, he went down immediately and it was only Harry's interruption that had saved him from their Kiss. The glimmer of positive emotion was irresistible to the creatures. Every time Harry came by Sirius perked up, hoping it would be the moment they could make their escape. Every time he was disappointed.

One time he was woken by the voices of Aurors and the clanging of shackles. Harry was nowhere to been seen. The bars of his cell were solid between his fingers. He could only listen as the voices grew faint and disappeared, leaving Azkaban once again to the prisoners and the Dementors.

Harry came by the next day. Sirius shed his fur and stumbled to his feet.

"Are there Aurors?" he asked, again feeling that traitorous hope flare up and fall when Harry shook his head.

"There were Aurors in Azkaban yesterday," Sirius said. "You weren't here."

"I didn't see them. I was doing other things."

"You have to pay attention, okay? They don't come that often. We have to be ready." Sirius crouched by the bars, wishing he could grab Harry and impress on him the importance of what he had to do.

"It's boring," Harry said. "You're the one who wants to leave." He rocked slightly on his feet. "I go to the pier, sometimes. There's never a boat."

Sirius sighed. "It's okay," he said, "as long as you keep an eye on it. Please. It's important."

"Okay," Harry said. "Can you teach me a song?"

Sirius faltered and shook his head. "I don't think I remember any songs." At Harry's scowl he added, "sorry."

Harry shrugged and sighed heavily. "Nobody here remembers songs. It's boring." He looked away for a moment, nodded firmly and looked back at Sirius. "When we are out, you can teach me songs."

"Yes," Sirius agreed. "When we are out."

X.

He was pacing his cell when Harry visited him again, trying to keep up his body in what small ways he could. He stopped when Harry immediately walked through the bars and grinned widely.

"There's a boat," Harry said. For a second, Sirius was completely still. Then an answering grin spread on his face.

"It's time, it's finally time, Harry! We're getting out!" He whirled around, then turned back to Harry. "Which way were the Aurors going?"

Harry just stared at him. Sirius sighed and shook his head. "No matter. We'll just hope we don't run into them. Let's go, we have to hurry. They always leave as quickly as they can."

He reached out a hand to Harry, who slipped around it, grabbed his other hand and pulled him through the bars. He immediately let go again and waited for Sirius to start walking.

The door at the end of the hallway was unlocked and lead into an identical hallway, though with a different orientation. The door at the end of that was also unlocked.

"They're always open," Harry spoke up when Sirius hesitated.

"Right," Sirius said and pushed it open. "The Dementors are more important than mere locks, anyway. Are you _sure_ they won't come after us?"

" _Yes_ ," Harry said as they entered a stairwell. More torches sputtered on the wall, illuminating stairs that went round and round into the depths.

"This goes only half down," Harry said. "The other half are different stairs."

Sirius squinted into the depths. "I'm pretty sure it goes down all-"

"The bottom half is fake," Harry interrupted. "You fall through. The back staircase is all fake, most of the time."

Sirius nodded and started down the stairs. When they were halfway down the tower, he saw the rickety railing that had been put in front of the fake stairs. He snorted.

"What is the use of trick stairs when you put something in front of it?"

"The men are pretty stupid," Harry said. "Maybe they forget."

"The stupidest," Sirius agreed and turned to the door. It was unlocked like the others. He pushed it open and stepped through. He looked up.

He stood eye to eye with an Auror, a second Auror behind him with a new prisoner. The Auror started. His wand rose.

Before he could react, before Sirius could even think to fight or flee, Harry had already shot forward and jumped the first Auror. He latched onto the front of his robes, their faces level. The man stumbled at the unexpected weight. He hesitated for a moment, his wand still useless at his side. Then Harry ducked his head and-

Sirius could only watch as the man struggled and screamed and fell, his skull bouncing against the stone floor, his limbs jerking uselessly. The light in the hallway was dimming, or maybe it was just Sirius' eyesight, the torches flickering and Sirius thought he could see a light where the Auror and Harry were attached but that _couldn't_ -

"What the fuck," the second Auror yelled shrilly and the sound jerked Sirius into action. He ran forward, flowing into his fur between one footstep and the next, jumped, opened his jaws-

A thin red streak of light shot harmlessly past Sirius. The second Auror fell backwards beneath the weight of the dog, his forearm clamped between Sirius' teeth. His wand clattered on the stone and Sirius could hear it rolling away before it bumped into something. A hand grabbed the fur on his neck and pulled. Sirius growled and clamped down harder, his nails scrabbling against the man's torso. Sirius felt it when the arm between his jaws broke, the sharp crack loud in his ears. It was followed by a scream. The hand at his neck fell away for a moment before it came back, punching at the side of his head. He let go of the arm and jumped out of range, shaking his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears. The man stayed on the ground, his broken arm clasped again his chest. He was breathing harshly through his clenched teeth. His eyes wandered for a second, before they settled somewhere to the left of Sirius.

When Sirius warily turned he saw the forgotten convict, pointing a wand at the downed Auror with hands that were still shackled together. He completely ignored both Sirius and Harry, who, when Sirius glanced over at him, was sitting on top of the first Auror. Sirius shuddered when he saw the empty eyes staring in his direction. He resolutely looked away.

"Well, well," the convict said and bared his teeth. "I like this much better, don't you?"

He was still completely focused on the Auror and Sirius cautiously crept towards Harry. They had to _leave_.

"You thought you could just put me away and forget about me," the convict continued. "Well, you can think again, asshole. _Cru-_ "

Sirius leapt at him. It wasn't a conscious decision, one moment he was still creeping towards Harry, the next he was once again on top of a body. One that wasn't struggling. Sirius growled harshly in confusion, before his nose registered the smell of the blood that was pooling beneath the convict's skull. His head had slammed hard against the uneven ground when he went down. If he wasn't dead yet, he would be soon.

Sirius shakily stepped off the limp body and turned back into a man. The adrenaline was still rushing through his veins, making him simultaneously jittery and numb. He pried the wand out of the convict's grasp, did the same with the wand of the dead Auror and turned to the Auror that was still alive. He had struggled to a sitting position against the wall of the hallway. His eyes spat venom when they met Sirius'.

"You can't get off the island," he said hoarsely. "You can't get past the Dementors. They will take your soul like you deserve."

Sirius stepped forward and raised one of the stolen wands.

"Don't bother," Harry suddenly piped up and hopped off his perch. "The Dementors are coming to take care of him. If you still wanna go."

"Yeah," Sirius said after a moment of hesitation and lowered his wand. "Yeah, let's go."

When they left, Sirius could already see the frost creeping into the hallway. The Auror was screaming after them, swears and curses, the sound becoming quieter when they passed doorways and turned corners, before being cut off.

They went down the other staircase in silence. Sirius paused in the entry hall. "We can't go through the front door. Can you…" He gestured to the wall.

"Doggy," Harry said.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before realizing. He looked at the wand in his hand, the other secured to his underarm with a torn strip of fabric.

"Of course, yes." He quickly stuffed the other wand in the makeshift holster and pulled on his fur. He yipped when Harry smiled at him. A small hand settled on the back of his neck – the same place the Auror had grabbed him, but infinitely more gentle. They slipped through the outer wall, emerging into the storm that raged around Azkaban. Sirius could see the Auror left on the dock, looking impatiently at the entrance some meters away from them. Harry's hand fell away from his neck and he crept forward, careful to keep out of the Auror's line of sight. His dark coat blended in with the stones and the shadows. The Auror didn't notice Sirius until he was already on him, jumping from the gloom like a vengeful spirit.

"The grim…" the Auror moaned and went down without so much as a struggle. He stayed limply on the ground as Sirius took his abandoned wand between his teeth and headed for the boat. Harry was already in it, huddling in his overlarge cloak against the rain and the sea spray. As soon as Sirius was also inside, he said "go" and the boat obediently started forward.

The still lying Auror disappeared quickly behind the sheets of water, the monolithic mass of Azkaban took only a little longer to be obscured. Sirius waited until they could see only water around them before shedding his fur and laughing wildly.

"What a little pissant! The grim, indeed!"

Harry huddled further beneath his cloak and scowled. "I don't like it. It's too wet here."

"We'll be out of the rain before you know it," Sirius said. "As soon as we're out of range, I'll Apparate us out. We'll find somewhere to hunker down and I'll make us a fire." He turned the latest stolen wand around in his hands. "I'll check which of these wand suit me best and we're all set to go. How does that sound? Where do you want to go first?"

"The zoo," Harry said and his scowl lessened slightly. "I want to see the animals."

"The zoo it is then, buddy," Sirius said and laughed again. "The zoo, and then everything else."


End file.
